The Sheriff of Hangman's Gulch. Matt Rand

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СКАЧАТЬ “and say there ain’t no wind howlin’ outside, when everybody hears a storm. Black Henry’s a menace to the folk in the Gulch—and if the law won’t take care of him, the Vigilantes will.”

      “If Black Henry breaks the law,” said the judge gruffly, “the sheriff will apprehend him and bring him to trial. Otherwise, and until such evidence is produced which will prove him guilty in court, Black Henry is free to come and go as he pleases.”

      “Tom Sears is a good sheriff,” declared Larson. “But he’s up against somethin’ here that’s just too big for one man to handle.”

      “The sheriff possesses the right to deputize as many men as he deems necessary,” said the judge. “If Sears needs help, he knows what to do about it.”

      “That ain’t the point, Carter,” cried Larson. “Yuh know a man with a star pinned to his vest makes him an easy target. That’s why we organized the Committee—” He broke off abruptly and his wide mouth snapped shut.

      By now the three men had reached Larson’s store. A man had just come out, and it was his appearance that caused the store owner’s face to grow grim and stormy.

      Jim Wurt was dressed meticulously and his face shone from a recent shave.

      “Good mornin’, gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, his wet, red lips receding in a smile.

      “Is my daughter inside?” demanded Larson curtly, scarcely acknowledging the greeting.

      “Yeah,” replied Wurt, the edge rubbing off his smile. “She asked me to send yuh in.”

      “Wurt,” cried Larson, his face working red. “I told yuh twice before to stay away from Kate. This is the last time—and this is a warnin’!”

      Judge Carter laid a restraining hand on the big-boned storekeeper, but the latter shook it off.

      “I know yuh don’t like me, Larson,” Wurt said. “And I ain’t aimin’ to start any arguments—this mornin’. But I reckon it’s up to Miss Larson to tell me that herself.”

      No one knows what would have happened next if a horse hadn’t suddenly broken into town and flashed down the street, kicking up a swirling dust cloud. A sense of urgency sat in the rider’s saddle.

      The sweat-lathered horse brought up on its haunches as the rider came sailing off in front of the four men. He was a lad of no more than fourteen.

      “What’s the rush, Bud?” demanded Brown.

      The youngster stood in front of them panting, his face worried, his eyes big and round.

      “I just cut Sheriff Sears down,” he cried. “He was hangin’ from a tree—about two miles out of town. And his badge was missin’.” With that, the youngster turned heel and ran into the store two removed from Larson’s. The legend painted on the window was, “Dan River’s Printing Shop.” Underneath that appeared the words, “Hangman’s Gulch Weekly Herald.”

      Consternation, then anger showed on honest Sam Larson’s face. “Murdered!” he cried fiercely. “First West and now Sears! This is Black Henry’s bloody work!”

      “There’s no proof yet,” said the judge temperately.

      “Enough for me, Carter—and the Committee,” cried Larson. “Tom told me yesterday he was on that big devil’s trail. Said Black Henry and the Hounds had a cabin in the hills ’round here.”

      “What’ll we do about a sheriff,” asked Wurt quietly, “to take Sears’ place?”

      “There’ll be an election,” announced the judge. “As the law prescribes.”

      “That’ll take two weeks,” pointed out Tay Brown.

      “The law may move slowly, gentlemen,” said the judge. “But it moves. I’m going to have Rivers make the announcement in his paper.” He nodded, and moved with unhurried and dignified stride to the store where the Herald was printed.

      “He’ll never learn,” cried Larson bitterly. He turned grimly to Brown. “But we ain’t waitin’ for no election. I’m callin’ a meetin’ of the Committee for tonight.” His glance reluctantly included Jim Wurt.

      “I’ll be there,” said Wurt. He smiled pleasantly and left them.

      “Can’t understand what yuh have against Jim Wurt,” said Brown.

      Larson’s wide mouth drew in as he watched Wurt disappear into the Star Saloon. “I can’t put my finger on it, Brown,” he said unsmiling. “But there’s somethin’ in that gent I don’t trust. Maybe it’s because that bunch of hoodlums uses Wurt’s place to meet.”

      “I think yuh got him figgered wrong, Larson,” declared Brown, shaking his head. “Business is business, ’sides there’s never been a suspicion on him. Why he’s Number Eight.”

      Two meetings took place that night—not one. And the latter meeting was a counterpart of one that had taken place on many previous occasions—in the single, candle-lighted back room of the Star.

      Black Henry had just let his bulk in quietly through the door and taken his seat. Wurt’s face glowed sepulchrally in the yellow light as he finished counting some money from a roll of bills.

      “Guess I lost that bet, huh?” he said smiling.

      Black Henry’s coarse laughter rumbled low in the room. “That’ll learn yuh not make any more dumb fool bets with me.” A hairy hand broke into the dimly lit circle and took the money Wurt had extended. Then the hands’ owner said, “Brought yuh a present, Wurt.” And an object was thrown onto the table.

      For a moment, Jim Wurt stared at it; then a smile brushed his full lips. And he picked the shiny object up and slipped it into his pocket.

      “That’ll hang yuh, friend,” Matt’s taunting voice floated thickly from the wall, where he had his chair tipped.

      “Sure,” laughed Black Henry. “Right beside yuh.”

      “Let up, yuh two,” said Wurt, but it was evident that he was in a good humor. “And listen to me.”

      Silence descended over the glimmering darkness of the room. Silence broken only by the softly pushing voice of Jim Wurt, weaving a web of chicanery and cunning.

      Once Matt objected. “But Texas—” he began.

      Wurt cut him off. “Texas is a long way from here,” he said. “And as long as yuh’re workin’ for me—” he shrugged.

      The candle sputtered, neared the nadir of its descent. Still the purring voice went on. Finally Wurt reached the end.

      “And Black Henry,” he concluded, “my brother members on the Vigilante Committee are goin’ to comb the woods for yuh. Just disappear for a week.” Then he sent his voice reaching to Matt in the darkness. “And remember, Matt. We remain strangers to each other—the way we been—’til this business is settled. Then we’ll see how the play falls.”

      When he had done, his two СКАЧАТЬ